


Better Latte Than Never

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barista Castiel (Supernatural), First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Misunderstandings, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 21:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12197601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: Castiel works at the coffee shop near Dean's work, and Dean can't seem to stop turning up there - despite the fact that coffee was never really his thing. He's not quite got the courage to ask Castiel out, though, and Castiel himself doesn't seem to be making any kind of move on Dean - and next thing Dean knows, it seems like his chance is gone forever. Castiel is with someone else, and never liked Dean at all. Things aren't always quite what they seem, though...





	Better Latte Than Never

**Author's Note:**

> Over three years ago now - holy guacamole, is it that long??? - I wrote a fic for a prompt by perdizzion, once known as castihalo, and the fic was called [Better Late than Never](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2040609/chapters/4431045). And some time after that, I wrote her this. I'm already workshopping the name of the next fic I write for her, don't worry. Better Crate than Heather? Letter Fate and Clever? Have a Gate and Tether? We'll have to wait and see.

“What are you having?” Castiel asked with a smile, and Dean’s stomach flipped.

“Um. Regular latte,” he managed to say, and smiled.

“Regular latte,” Castiel repeated. “Coming right up.” He turned away and began to prepare Dean’s drink, tanned hands picking up a plain white cup which he spun into position onto the coffee machine, glancing up to see whether Dean had noticed. Dean smiled, hoping it came across as ‘impressed’ and not ‘totally smitten’.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other behind the cafe counter, Dean waited for his latte to be ready. He preferred espresso, if he was honest - but lattes took longer to drink, and just recently, Dean had found himself becoming a professional in the niche field of ‘reasons to take a long time over drinking a coffee in a small cafe’. He’d never even liked coffee that much - it had always been more of a necessary evil, utilized when he’d pushed his sleeping schedule beyond the reasonable limit - but that was something that he’d conveniently forgotten, just recently.

In fact, he could date this very specific amnesia to the exact moment that he’d walked through the door of this tiny cafe, tired in the middle of a long day at work and gasping for something to drink on his lunch break. That had been the first time he’d come, but there had been a second time, and a third… and now it was almost a whole month later, and Dean was still coming in every day.

He wished he could say that it was the coffee at Better Latte Than Never that kept him coming back. The coffee _was_ good – or at least, Dean thought it was, though he was no expert - he hadn’t exactly sampled a whole lot of different brands. In fact, recently, he hadn’t even bothered buying his usual packet of filter coffee when he went grocery shopping. He spent so much time in Better Latte Than Never that he was starting to genuinely worry about the effects of overcaffeination.

After all, maybe those effects included giddiness, and butterflies in his stomach, and a heart rate through the roof, all of which Dean had been experiencing on a daily basis - but if he was honest, Dean didn’t think he could blame the coffee so much as the _maker_ of the coffee for the symptoms.

God, he was feeling them right now, looking into those blue, blue eyes as they glanced up at him through the steam from the coffee machine. Castiel was tall, tanned, and unfairly good-looking – full lips, a strong chin, and tousled hair, not to mention his muscular arms, his large, graceful hands...

Dean cleared his throat. 

He was worse than a lovestruck high-schooler, and it was embarrassing, but he just couldn’t seem to stop coming back to the coffee shop – and Castiel always looked so happy to see him that it gave Dean just a little bit of hope. The way his face lit up…

“Back again?” said another voice - different, but still familiar. A tall, blond man pushed through the curtains from the back room of the coffee shop, and smiled at Dean - a twinkle in his eyes that was just a little bit too knowing for Dean’s liking. _Balthazar,_ read his nametag, and he had an accent - British, Dean thought, though they hadn’t spoken much before today. Dean had always seemed to find himself being served by Castiel, on all his visits - and he wasn’t complaining.

“Yeah,” Dean said, offering an uncomfortable smile in return.

“You must _really_ enjoy our coffee,” Balthazar said, his voice heavy with irony. “Or maybe it’s the excellent service, hmm?”

Castiel rounded on him, looking murderous, before catching Dean’s eye and turning hastily back to the coffee machine. Dean thought he saw Castiel’s cheeks reddening, but that could have just been the heat from the machine.

Dean blinked, realising that he was staring, and looked back at Balthazar.

“It’s a nice place you have here,” he said blandly. “I like it.” Balthazar smiled again in recognition of the compliment - but still, there was that sparkling knowledge in his look that made Dean shift uncomfortably. What did Balthazar care if Dean came back every day? Surely it couldn’t be bad for business to have a regular - it felt like Dean had dropped half his life savings into lattes just recently.

“Well - nice to see you again,” Balthazar said, as though aware that he was outstaying his welcome in the two-person bubble of quiet that Dean and Castiel had been in before he’d arrived. He picked up a cup and nodded to Dean before turning around and heading into the back room once more, slapping Castiel on the back as he passed.

Castiel offered Dean a smile that was halfway between an apology and the sharing of a joke that they both understood - though neither of them would have been able to put it into words, Dean thought. It was just a little funny, somehow.

Castiel pushed Dean’s latte across the counter, made expertly, the foam light and golden. Dean paid, putting the coins down on the counter instead of right into Castiel’s hand. It felt dishonest, somehow, to seek out touch between them and like it so much, when he wasn’t even sure if Castiel liked him back. Castiel dragged the coins to his side of the counter and tipped them over the edge into his cupped palm, his eyes twinkling as he pulled some change out of the till and set it down on the counter, just as Dean had. The way Castiel looked at him had Dean thinking things that made him blush; he looked down at the change to avoid eye contact, but only ended up staring at Castiel’s hands instead.

“Keep it,” Dean mumbled. “Uhm, a top. Sorry – a tip, a tip. Um. I’m just…” He grabbed his latte and walked away before he could embarrass himself any further, heading for his usual table - the one where he was in clear view of the barista’s counter - and then sweeping past it, to one further on where he could hide, and blush, and put his head in his hands in peace. A _top_. A top? _Really?_ As if his crush weren’t already pathetically obvious...

After all this time just waiting and hoping, Dean knew that he really just needed to _do_ something.

He took a sip of his latte. It was still too hot; he put it back down, staring at it thoughtfully.

Too hot. Too soon. What if he tried to ask Castiel out, but it was too soon? But it had been a _month._ He was starting to look less smitten and more like a stalker, he was pretty sure. Maybe tomorrow he’d turn up to the coffee shop and be served with jail time instead of a latte.

Or maybe both. Dean spent a few moments imagining how feasible it would be to drink a coffee whilst wearing handcuffs. Definitely possible, he concluded, but not that comfortable.

The fact of it was, Dean really, _really_ did not want to mess this up. Every time he even thought about offering Castiel his number, or even - his heart skipped at the thought - asking Castiel out on a date, he couldn’t help picturing all the millions of ways that it could go wrong. His imaginings ranged from receiving a simple ‘no, I don’t want to, thank you’ response, to Castiel being so shocked that he dropped a coffee cup on his foot, broke his toes, tripped over, broke his nose, and meanwhile the coffee from the fallen cup would have splattered all over a socket and started a fire, in which the whole coffee shop would be consumed in a matter of minutes. The result of asking Castiel out on a date, Dean thought, could conceivably be rejection, or accidental arson.

But… Dean sat up a little straighter, peeking around the corner to catch a glimpse of Castiel, who was chatting seriously with someone Dean couldn’t see - probably Balthazar. Every time Dean had talked to Castiel, he’d been so kind, and intelligent, and thoughtful. Dean knew that Castiel was six months older than him, a college student, making money where he could to fund his final year as a Philosophy major. He knew that Castiel was an only child, had his birthday in September, disliked Freud, enjoyed jazz and liked bees and baked cakes and had a tattoo on his shoulder and hated mornings and, and, and…

And yet, Dean still hadn’t asked him out. And Castiel hadn’t asked Dean out, either, which was another thing that was worrying. Every day that passed, Dean grew a little more certain of how much he liked Castiel, and a little less certain of how much Castiel liked him. After all, if Castiel wanted to date him, wouldn’t he have said something by now? But then, maybe Castiel was thinking exactly the same thing about him…

“Um, excuse me? Dean?”

Dean whipped his head up at the sound of that familiar sea salt voice. Castiel was standing in front of him, awkwardly holding up a plate stacked high with brownies. It was the first time that Dean had ever seen him out from behind the counter; he was instantly struck by the nearness of Castiel, the lack of barrier between them. It was enough to make his head spin.

God, he had it _bad._

“My, um. My manager sent me to ask you… if you’d like a brownie.” Castiel was standing very upright, his expression uncomfortable.

“He did?” Dean asked. He leaned forwards a little and glanced towards the barista’s counter, where Balthazar was standing and watching them both. Catching Dean’s eye, he grinned and tipped Dean a wink. Dean blinked back, and frowned.

“Yes. He did. It’s, um, ‘on the house’, he says.” Castiel said the words as though he’d never heard them used together before in his life, making Dean grin. The sight of Dean’s smile seemed to make Castiel happy; his shoulders relaxed and his eyes softened.

“That’s very kind,” Dean said. “Uh. So long as it’s OK.” Castiel leaned down, and Dean picked a brownie off the plate. He caught a scent of Castiel’s cologne as he did so, something sweet and musky. It smelled good, so good, and oh, there it was again - with Castiel out from behind the counter, Dean was suddenly so much more aware of his body – of how much he wanted to hold Castiel’s hand, or slide his arms around those hips, or kiss him…

“Uhh,” Dean said, the little noise coming out wobbly. “Uhmm. Thanks for the brownie.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said. He treated Dean to one of his rare wider smiles, his eyes bright. Dean opened his mouth, a thousand things that he wanted to say trapped on his tongue. Before he could say any of them, Castiel nodded a warm goodbye to him, and headed back to serve the next customer.

Dean took several meditative sips of his latte.

This was getting ridiculous. The magnitude of his crush on Castiel was so obvious now that even the manager was doing his best to hook Dean up - or that’s what it looked like. That didn’t necessarily mean that Castiel felt the same way, of course…

Dean chewed on his lip for a moment, and then pulled a napkin out of the holder and grabbed a pen out of his coat pocket. His fingers were clumsy as he jotted down a mobile number - his own. He agonised for ten minutes, and then added a smiley face. It was wonky, so he snatched a new napkin and tried again. Better, but not quite right… he wrote his own name above the digits. He added an apostrophe and an ‘s’ and the word ‘number’. He added a scribbled ‘call me’ and then scrunched up the napkin – too desperate – and started again. Number, check. Smiley face, good. Pause, think – ‘Dean’s Number’, not too neat, not too messy.

Perfect.

Except the zero there kind of looked like a six, because he’d drawn it strangely…

No. Enough fussing. Dean downed the last of his latte and stuffed the brownie into his mouth in one bite, swallowing it before he’d even really chewed.

He looked over to where Castiel was standing behind the counter, and licked his dry lips, and started walking over to the counter.

When he was halfway there, he stopped in his tracks. Castiel was standing right in front of the counter, frowning, with Balthazar standing next to him - and then Balthazar looked right at Dean, slid his arm around Castiel’s waist, and kissed him on the cheek. It was so undoubtedly romantic that Dean felt as though he’d walked into a wall, he stopped so suddenly.

Balthazar was looking at him, Dean could feel it, though he only had eyes for Castiel - who pulled away from Balthazar, and then saw Dean staring. He seemed to go pale; Dean realised suddenly how strange he must look, standing there wide-eyed at Castiel being kissed by his - his boyfriend, apparently. Castiel had a boyfriend.

Castiel had a boyfriend.

Dean realised he was still holding the napkin with his number on it in his hand. Castiel was staring at him, but Dean’s vision felt splintered, like he couldn’t focus right and everything was too sharp. He felt sick to his stomach.

Castiel had a boyfriend.

He screwed the napkin up in his hand. On his way out of the coffee shop, he tossed it into the trash can by the door. He could still taste latte on his lips, still feel Castiel’s eyes on the back of his head, as he crossed the street and walked away, never intending to go back to the coffee shop again.

*

Somehow, in the process of half-falling for someone with a boyfriend, Dean had managed to completely fall for coffee. Three days after leaving Better Latte Than Never with his hands tingling and his legs like jelly, he caved.

He didn’t go back to Castiel’s coffee shop - he wanted a latte, not a hot cup of embarrassment with a side of shame - but good coffee places proved hard to find. After trying a Starbucks, he discounted chainstore coffees completely, and tried to find another good little indie place where he could spend his lunch breaks - somewhere not too far from the car shop where he worked. And that was how he ended up in The Daily Grind, drinking a latte made for him by a pretty barista with red hair. Dean didn’t look at her twice; at least he was learning, he told himself.

He sat down at a table far from the counter, in a booth with his back to the rest of the cafe, and pulled out his phone. He flicked through his notifications - a few texts, one missed call. He sighed, and took a sip of his coffee. It tasted… OK, Dean had to admit begrudgingly. It felt wrong to like the coffee from another shop after pining for the barista from one down the road for so long, but he had to move on somehow. It was ridiculous to still feel anything for Castiel at all, let alone loyalty.

“Come on, Cassie,” said a voice from behind Dean - a voice that he recognised, that made his insides freeze; he choked on his coffee and spilled a little of it over the edge of his cup when he set it down too hard, trying to muffle his coughing. “Just sit down.”

“We could have just had our lunch break at the shop,” said a second voice, one like sea salt and honey chocolate, and Dean melted and tensed and wanted to run and couldn’t move, all at the same time. He ducked his head lower, in case either Balthazar or Castiel could see his profile over the top of the booth.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, it’s good to get out of the place for a bit. Refresh ourselves,” Balthazar said. His voice sounded like he was sitting facing Dean, which meant that unless Castiel was sitting on the same side of the booth…

“Refresh ourselves from the coffee shop… in another coffee shop,” Castiel said dryly, and Dean could tell that he and Castiel were sitting back-to-back. He put his hands over his face.

Oh, God.

“It doesn’t make sense, but it’s poetic,” Balthazar said easily.

Dean had left it too long - he couldn’t get up and leave now, they’d see him, it would be awkward, and that loudmouth Balthazar was bound to make some comment that would only make everything worse. He was stuck, listening to his crush have a lunchtime date with his boyfriend. Dean mopped at the spilled coffee on the table and then had nowhere to put the damp napkin, so simply set it down beside his latte cup. Who was the damper napkin, he thought. The one sitting on the table, or the one sitting at it.

And now he was describing himself as a damp napkin. This situation was actually going to drive him round the freaking twist, it seemed. Dean almost wanted to laugh, in a bleak kind of way.

“Besides, Anna works here,” he heard Balthazar add. “It’s good to support our friends, Castiel.”

 _Our_ friends. They’d been a couple long enough to have a shared friendship group - and _bang_ went Dean’s hopeful theory of a one-night stand or casual hookup situation.

No wonder Balthazar had been in Dean’s face about the reason he kept coming back to Better Latte than Never, Dean thought suddenly. He must have thought Dean was trying to hit on his boyfriend. He wanted the ground to swallow him up, he was so ashamed. All that time he’d spent dreaming, hoping, wishing...

 _Castiel has a boyfriend_ , Dean reminded himself, for the thousandth time. _You’re not allowed to think about him like that anymore_. God, Castiel must have been so uncomfortable with Dean coming in every single day. Maybe that was why Balthazar had kissed his cheek, trying to comfort him behind the counter - maybe that was why Castiel had looked so uncomfortable as Balthazar did it. Because he was worried about being _stalked._

“I thought getting you out of the shop would perk you up,” Dean heard Balthazar say. “But you still look like a bird shat on your shoulder. What _is_ it with you this week?”

“You know what it is.”

Balthazar sighed.

“Look, if this is still about that regular of ours…”

Oh, God. So Dean really _had_ got to Castiel; all of his worst nightmares were real. Castiel had been so upset by Dean’s constant visits that he was still angry about them. Dean stared down vacantly at his phone, his heart thudding painfully. He was so _stupid, stupid, stupid…_

“Of course it is.”

Dean let his head fall onto his arms on top of the table, slumping in defeat.

“You said it would work. You said it was foolproof,” Castiel continued, sounding resentful.

“Cassie,” Balthazar said, sounding cajoling, “he’s just one customer.” He snorted idly. “So, the plan didn’t work. It’s a ball-ache, but so what?”

“So what?” Castiel demanded. “Didn’t you see his face, Balthazar? And he hasn’t returned since.”

Dean blinked, and lifted his head off his arms. That had almost sounded… as though Castiel was upset that Dean _wasn’t_ there. Which…

Which made no sense at all.

“He was just supposed to get a little jealous,” Balthazar said languidly. “Not march right out of the place like he’d seen a ghost. Maybe he’s mad. You know, touched in the head. You’re probably best off without anything to do with him.”

“I don’t… feel that way,” Castiel said, too carefully, and Dean’s heart twisted itself into a lover’s knot in the space of half a second. He tried to remember to breathe, but couldn’t quite figure out how.

Someone sighed, and slurped their drink - Balthazar, Dean thought.

“Look,” Balthazar said. “He’s probably busy doing whatever it is that he does...”

“Fixing cars,” Castiel said dully.

“How do you know that? Did you follow him to work like a lost dog? Actually, I don’t want to know. The point is, he’ll just be busy, but next week you’ll see him back again. Burning with jealousy, just like you wanted, and ready to punch me on the nose and ask you out on a date, _finally._ ”

“You really think so?” Castiel sounded like he was trying hard not to be hopeful. “He never missed a day, for the entirety of the last month…”

“Playing it cool,” said Balthazar wisely. “He doesn’t want to seem too interested now that he thinks you’re dating me. But trust me, he’s _far_ too into you to leave you alone for long, what with the eyes you’ve been making at him. He can’t have missed how into him you are.”

And the pit in Dean’s stomach was suddenly a whole lot smaller, because thank _God,_ he hadn’t totally misread everything - and Castiel really had been giving off signs he’d been interested in Dean - and -

“Can’t say I know what he sees in you, but…” Balthazar said lazily.

“Balthazar, you’ve been my friend since we were five. You must have noticed a certain number of personal qualities.”

“Hmmm. Grumpy, grumpy, and more grumpy?” Balthazar said, teasing. There was a shuffling sound of someone getting to their feet, and Dean ducked his head as Balthazar made a noise of protest.

“You can’t go back yet! You can’t even have finished… oh, Castiel. Of course you got an espresso.”

“I’ll see you back at the shop,” Castiel said, sounding smug.

“What’s your hurry?” Balthazar said. “Worried your jealous lover might return, and you not there to greet him with proffered beverage?”

“Something like that,” Castiel said, and Dean could hear the reluctant smile in his voice. There were footsteps… and then the creak of the coffee shop door opening, and closing.

Castiel was gone.

Dean could hardly move. He put his hands over his eyes, trying to shut the whole world down while he figured this out. So… if he was hearing right, if he wasn’t going crazy… it sounded like Balthazar and Castiel weren’t, in fact, in actuality, in reality… dating. They weren’t going out. They’d cooked up the kiss together - with most of the idea coming from Balthazar, so it seemed - as a way to make someone jealous enough to boot them into action. Someone who was a regular - a regular who worked fixing cars? Surely - Dean hated to assume anything, after what had happened in the past few days - but surely that had to be Dean? So, in essence, what the whole thing boiled down to, was…

Castiel did not have a boyfriend.

And Castiel - _maybe -_ probably? - liked Dean.

Dean’s legs were jelly again, but this time was different. He stood up, and turned around, and walked the single step to stand by the table where Balthazar was sitting alone, holding his phone in one hand and his coffee in another.

Dean said nothing, only waited for Balthazar to notice him. It took a few seconds - but when Balthazar did look up, his mouth dropped open in a surprisingly genuine expression of shock - happy shock, Dean thought.

“You!” Balthazar said. He set down his coffee delicately. “Deserted to another shop? Are you trying to woo my sister as well as my best friend?” He pointed towards the red-haired barista who had served Dean earlier. Dean glared at him.

“You,” he growled, “are an ass.”

“Please,” Balthazar said, leaning back with his arm along the back of his seat, relaxed and unfazed. “Arse, if you don’t mind. At least insult me in my own accent.”

“I can’t believe I actually fell for your cute little trick,” Dean said. “How long did it take you to talk Castiel into that one, huh? Didn’t you think about _him_ once when you were moving us around like chess pieces?”

Balthazar leaned forwards, his eyes showing a sudden verve and intensity. Dean almost took a step back, the change was so sudden.

“I care about my best friend,” he said. “That’s precisely why I did it, Mr Regular Latte. Because you are an unknown, charming kind of guy, who I thought was probably playing with Castiel’s feelings. And if you had no intention of ever asking him out, I wanted you _gone._ I thought about _him_ plenty when I moved you around like a chess piece. I just didn’t think twice about _you._ And I think you’ll find that’s the real reason you’re angry.”

He leaned back, and in an effortless moment was all relaxed, idle smiles once more. Dean swallowed hard. For the first time, he understood exactly what Castiel saw in Balthazar, and why they were friends.

And in fact, Dean thought, Balthazar did have a point. He looked at the guy with a certain new level of respect.

“I care about Castiel, too,” he said. Balthazar grunted, and picked up his coffee.

“I never said you didn’t,” he said. “I said I thought it was likely that you probably didn’t, but that’s not quite the same thing. Anyway, if you really do like him, can I suggest... that you might be better drinking coffee elsewhere?”

“You think I should go see him?” Dean asked, taken aback. He hadn’t asked for Balthazar’s blessing, nor especially wanted it - but now that he had it, he had to admit, it was a surprisingly good feeling. “After what you just said, with the - unknown, hanging around but not asking him out… thing?”

Balthazar had picked up his phone, and was looking down at his screen casually as he replied.

“Better Latte than Never,” he said dryly.

Dean didn’t hesitate another moment. He strode out of The Daily Grind and once he was outside, he couldn’t stop himself from breaking into a run. It was only a couple of minutes to walk there, but it was less than a minute to run, and that meant less than a minute until he saw Castiel…

He pushed through the familiar door to the coffee shop, out of breath and still moving fast, drawing the eyes of everyone inside. There were only a few customers seated at tables - and behind the counter, frozen with a cup in his hand and a cloth in another…

Castiel.

Dean walked over, feeling strangely dreamlike - with Castiel himself as the only focal point of clarity. He reached the counter and gripped it, trying to ground himself. He looked up at Castiel, whose expression was a mess - part surprised, part happy, part worried, part…. what was that, smugness? Dean felt himself getting cross, remembering the conversation that Balthazar and Castiel had been having. Castiel thought that he’d successfully manipulated Dean into coming back, did he? Made him jealous?

“Dean,” said Castiel, the single word loaded with a thousand meanings. Dean struggled to hold onto his anger. Castiel cleared his throat, and made an obvious effort to behave normally. “What are you having?”

The same question, just like always. ‘Regular latte’, Dean was supposed to reply.

“I’m having none of your _bullshit_ ,” Dean said, in his best tough-guy voice. Somewhere behind him, Dean thought he heard a few gasps and a surprised snort of laughter.

Castiel blinked, looking thunderstruck.

“None of my… bullshit,” he repeated. “As in… you dislike the lattes I make? You think they’re... bullshit?”

“What? No, no,” Dean said. Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Dean found himself going on. “Your lattes are delicious, actually. They’re way better than Starbucks. Like, _way_ better.” He shook his head, trying to get back on track. “But that’s not why I -”

“You really think so?” Castiel said. Dean pulled a face that he hoped said quite clearly, _duh_.

“Hell, yeah. And even the ones down at The Daily Grind honestly don’t match up.”

“What? No, Anna’s a much better barista than I am.”

“I’m telling you, dude, yours are _way_ better.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! You just make them in this way that’s really…” He cut himself off, and frowned. “Hey. Wait a second. I didn’t come in here to congratulate your damn coffee.”

“Ah. You didn’t?” Castiel said, his shoulders sinking.

“I mean, I’m not saying that I’m upset the conversation went that way, I’m just saying that I came in with a specific thing to say, and then you put me off.”

“I didn’t put you off,” Castiel said.

“You did!”

“You were the one who said my coffee was better than Starbucks.”

“I - that’s not - stop putting me off when I’m trying to be mad at you!”

“I didn’t mean... you’re mad?” Castiel said, looking concerned, the colour in his cheeks rising.

“Yeah,” Dean said, more firmly than he felt. “And not mad like ‘touched in the head’, either.”

He waited the few seconds that it took to sink in, watching the horror grow on Castiel’s face.

“You…”

“Yeah, that’s right. I was sitting right behind you in The Daily Grind just now. I heard everything you said to Balthazar. About how you pretended to be together by him kissing you, just so that I’d be _jealous_.” A few more gasps from behind him. The other customers were getting coffee and a show. Dean cleared his throat and focused on Castiel.

“I… I didn’t realise…” Castiel said, his blush brighter than ever.

“You know, I’m a human being, not a… not some kind of…” Dean said, running out of words in the face of Castiel’s pink cheeks, his bright eyes… his closeness, after three days of being apart.

“I know,” Castiel said. “I know, Dean, I just… you weren’t - you didn’t -”

“Well, neither did you!” Dean said.

“I could have got fired if you turned me down and complained!” Castiel retorted. Dean opened his mouth to reply, and then stopped, and tried again.

“Good point,” he said. “Still, you - you could have been a bit more clear! You could have _not_ had your best friend kiss you on the cheek to make me jealous!”

“Well,” Castiel said, looking utterly embarrassed, now, “if that’s all you came here to say -”

“It isn’t!”

“Fine!” Castiel said, seemingly caught up in their angry back-and-forth. “What else would you like to be mad about?”

“Nothing!” Dean said. “I _just…_ ” He began to pat down his pockets. Surely he had a - didn’t he have a pen? “I just _also_ came to…” He checked his back pocket - nothing. His front pocket - a spare bolt from a car engine. “I _wanted_ to…” Not even in his coat? Really? Dean sighed. “Do you… maybe… have a pen,” he said, in a much smaller voice.

He looked up into Castiel’s eyes. Castiel had his lips pressed together, as though to prevent himself from smiling. Dean looked away, to stop the grin forming on his own face. It didn’t completely work.

“Here,” Castiel said, pulling a pen out from under the counter and passing it to Dean, who took it, careful not to let their hands touch.

“Fine. Fine. Good,” Dean said, trying to work up some of the momentum he’d lost. “Good! Well. I’m going to use this pen to write my number on your hand.”

“Good,” said Castiel, holding out his hand.

“And you’re going to call me.”

“Good,” said Castiel, as Dean wrote down his number on the palm.

“And I’m going to _date_ you,” Dean said, finishing up.

“ _Good_ ,” said Castiel, and reached up his hand, pulled Dean in by the collar of his jacket, and kissed him.


End file.
